


Never Knew

by smutmuffin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cuddles, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, ridiculous amounts of schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-18 20:44:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1442224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smutmuffin/pseuds/smutmuffin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for auburnbatch, who won my promo giveaway and asked for a fic with Johnlock cuddles and some kissing on the sofa. The prompt included Mycroft saying something that hurt Sherlock and John snuggling him to make him feel better. My muse ran away with this and demanded a first kiss / friends to lovers scenario. (who am I to argue).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Knew

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Never Knew-连Sherlock都不知道的事](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1477159) by [RictinaM_Z](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RictinaM_Z/pseuds/RictinaM_Z)



> This little piece of fluff is set pre-Reichenbach. It was written while listening to “[Never knew I had a heart (till it beat for you)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xjy_ls5fOPI)” on repeat. Heartfelt thanks go to my beta helpers Lina and Cumbermyspock :)

Sherlock sat slumped on the sofa, knees pulled up to his chest, having a sulk of truly Sherlockian magnitude. He stared blankly at a spot on the wallpaper, not so much as stirring for well over an hour.

"All right?" John called from the kitchen. "Tea?"

"Mm." Sherlock replied, muffled, his mouth buried in his knees.

John put the kettle on and grabbed a few of the chocolate biscuits Sherlock liked. Maybe a biscuit or two would get him to uncurl. John finished making the tea and padded into the living room balancing both cups and the biscuits in his arms. He set the biscuits with their plate on the coffee table and handed Sherlock his tea before retreating to his own chair.

“Alright, spill.” John said as he set his steaming mug on the side table.

Sherlock, still hidden behind his knees, sipped his tea and returned his gaze to the apparently fascinating wallpaper. “It’s nothing...” he growled, an obvious ‘leave me alone’ in his tone.

“Sherlock,” John prodded, sounding only slightly exasperated. He gave his flatmate a pointed look, raising an eyebrow. “Out with it. Come on.”

Sherlock merely put his cup down on the coffee table and proceeded to throw himself down onto the sofa in one of his characteristic, petulant flops. His dressing gown billowed around his legs pitifully, and he pulled it tightly around himself.

John rolled his eyes at the dramatics. He couldn’t help but notice that this wasn’t just a ‘Sherlock being offended at the world for boring him’ sulk, something else was wrong. He contemplated how he might get the detective to talk. Standing from his armchair, he crossed to the sofa and sat down close to Sherlock in the bend of the other man’s knees. He gingerly settled his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock uncurled by a few inches, it was progress. John heard him mumble something into the cushions that sounded like ‘Mycroft’.

“Mycroft? What’s he done now?” John asked, trying to find out whether this was just another one of their childish squabbles or if something more serious had occurred. When no reply was forthcoming, he pressed: “Has he confiscated something you shouldn’t have had in the first place? Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Sherlock turned his head slightly to glare at John. “No.” The younger man’s gaze flicked to the plate of chocolate biscuits briefly, but decided that accepting bribery would undermine his pouting. With a huff he squished himself back into the cushions and mumbled: “He... insinuated something.”

John took a calming breath. By now he knew from experience that when Sherlock was in this kind of mood, getting information from him was like pulling teeth. It wouldn’t do to lose his cool if he wanted Sherlock to actually talk about why he was so moody. John wasn’t one to talk, to begin with. He wasn’t any good at expressing how he felt, either about himself or about the man currently curled up next to him, and maybe… John cut that thought off. It would never lead anywhere anyway. He gently pulled on Sherlock’s shoulder and repeated: “What did he say? Come on. You know you you can tell me anything, right?”

At this Sherlock turned abruptly to look right at John, and John was taken aback at the sadness in Sherlock’s eyes. Whatever it was Mycroft had said must really have hurt him. Without thinking, he pulled Sherlock upright and wrapped his arms around the robe-clad shoulders. He immediately felt Sherlock go very tense, but instead of letting go he pulled Sherlock into a hug. John expected him to bristle, to ask what he was doing, to push him away… he wasn’t sure himself what brought this on. Cuddling with his flatmate was so far outside of what counted as normal, even for them, but he simply couldn’t stand to see Sherlock look so distraught.

His muscles still tense, Sherlock spoke against John’s shoulder: “He implied I was letting sentiment cloud my judgement.”

“How do you mean?” John asked. He wanted to turn his head to look at him but at the same time was afraid of doing so. They were sitting very close already, and he feared that even the slightest movements would spook the detective. John’s heart was starting to speed up from the wonderful sensation of finally having the other man in his arms and he wondered if Sherlock had noticed.

"He said I’m getting too attached to you,” Sherlock replied. His voice, barely above a whisper, sounded completely wrecked. John could feel Sherlock’s lips move against his shoulder through his shirt and had to remind himself to remain still. “He said you won’t tolerate our living situation forever. That you’ll eventually want to… settle down. He said you’d leave.” To John’s surprise, Sherlock’s arms came up around John’s waist, returning the embrace.

John tightened his arms around Sherlock, running one hand along the rigid line of the detective’s spine and lifting his chin to lay it on Sherlock’s shoulder, finally allowing himself to move. He swallowed heavily, his heart racing now. John wondered if he was reading Sherlock right, but he knew the man so thoroughly by now that he knew Sherlock wasn’t simply afraid of losing his best friend. It gave him hope that what he was about to do wouldn’t result in rejection, as he had been fearing. Gathering all of his courage, John turned his head and carefully pressed his lips against the smooth skin of Sherlock’s throat.

Sherlock let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, his fingers convulsing minutely in the shirt at John’s back. It was all the reassurance John needed. He slid his hands upwards and cradled Sherlock’s face in his palms, pulling back slightly. Sherlock’s eyes held a look of pure astonishment and John couldn’t hold himself back a second longer. He closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, pressing his lips to Sherlock’s gently at first, sliding his lower lip against Sherlock’s full one for a heartbeat before tracing it with the tip of his tongue. All of the tension left Sherlock at once and with a small, deep moan he opened his lips to grant entry to John’s probing tongue. The sound sent electricity through John’s skin and he couldn’t stop himself pushing Sherlock back against the sofa, straddling his thighs and deepening the kiss.

Sherlock’s hands fell to John’s hips and it was so unexpected that John paused. He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against Sherlock’s, noticing how they were both breathing heavily. When he had regained some composure he pulled back, delighted when Sherlock tried to chase his lips with his own. John sat back a bit further and threaded his fingers through Sherlock’s soft, dark curls - a luxury he had never expected to have.

“Your brother is wrong, you know,” John said, pulling his hands forward to smooth his thumbs gently across those impossibly beautiful cheekbones. “I’m… attached to you too.”

Sherlock took a moment to respond. “So it would seem.” he finally responded, his lips pulling into  the beginning of a smile. For the most part Sherlock still looked dazed, like he wasn’t sure if he was awake or dreaming.

John leaned in again, but this time he simply buried his face in Sherlock’s throat and murmured: “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” There was a lot more to say, but for now, it could remain unspoken. The both of them knew that they had been too afraid to acknowledge how they felt about one another. Sherlock seemed to agree, holding John tighter to himself and burrowing closer. John smiled to himself. It appeared that the detective had decided to make up for all the contact he had been denying himself these past years and John was more than happy to oblige him.

Inhaling deeply, John enjoyed the way Sherlock’s skin smelled. Expensive soap, his preferred brand of shampoo, a faint trace of tobacco, and something that could be described as nothing other than Sherlock. “I’m not going to leave you, Sherlock.” John murmured, feeling Sherlock take in a small, sharp breath. It made him light headed to think about how much he must mean to Sherlock as well. John lifted his head, burying his nose into Sherlock’s curls. He hesitated briefly before adding, “I don’t... want to be anywhere where you’re not.”

With a slight brush of lips against John’s clothed collarbone, Sherlock replied, “Good.”

John chuckled into his detective’s hair and wrapped his arms tightly around him. Closing his eyes, John gently leaned against Sherlock and smiled to himself. Besides, if he was already beginning to make plans to thank Mycroft... Sherlock didn’t need to know that.


End file.
